Mark All the Days Yellow
by Athena's Marauder
Summary: Days aren't as important as moments, but guilt has a way of making each moment feel like a day. One shot based on fanart "Company" by nikitajobson. (My present to my bethyl shipper friend, also posted on ao3)


No one had kept track of days for a long time. There wasn't a reason to anymore. They mostly just went by "how can we get to tomorrow?" Daryl didn't know what day it was, but as he sat in the driveway of the Grimes' house, he felt like it might be a Sunday. Not that he had ever had a typical lazy Sunday before everything had happened, but he assumed this is what it would feel like; fixing up his bike while Judith played with her toy duck on a blanket next to him.

"Whatcha think, Lil Asskicker?" Daryl asked, leaning over to the toddler. "How's it lookin'?"

"Pretty," Judith said.

"Good," Daryl said, ruffling her hair and making her giggle.

His quiet afternoon was ruptured by panicked yells followed by the creaking of the gate. The scavenging group wasn't supposed to be back until sunset and an early arrival never meant anything good.

Daryl scooped up Judith, putting her back in her playpen on the porch. He called for Tara to watch her and hurried towards the entrance of the safe zone, approaching just as Glenn's car barreled through the opening.

"The hell is going on?" Daryl asked as Deanna came up behind him.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Deanna said.

Glenn's car screeched to a stop in front of the infirmary and he stumbled out of the driver's seat. Daryl breathed out a sigh of relief, seeing that Glenn wasn't the one hurt, but he could hear someone else sobbing even from where he was standing.

Deanna and Daryl followed to the infirmary as Glenn carried someone in from the car. Daryl didn't look at who was brought in, going instead to the passenger side where he found Maggie, leaning against the car with her arms wrapped around herself and tears soaking her face. "What's wrong? You okay?"

Maggie nodded as another sob wracked through her. "We found her in the woods," Maggie choked out. "She passed out."

"Found who?" Deanna asked.

"We left her, it's our fault," Maggie said. Daryl held her shoulders, trying to comfort her. "I thought she turned, I didn't want to see her like that. We should've gone back."

"Maggie, what are you talking about?" Deanna asked. "You brought her here, Denise will help her, you didn't leave anyone."

"No," Maggie said, taking a shallow breath. "We left her in Atlanta. She had to find us on her own. We left her."

"Who'd you find?" Daryl said slowly, his stomach tightening as he pieced together what she meant. Unless she had snapped, he only knew one person they had left in Atlanta but he wasn't about to start shooting off guesses no matter how slim the possibilities.

Maggie finally met his eyes, but still didn't answer his question. His felt as if he were dragging through mud as he headed for the house. Glenn had been planted right at the door, his head in his hands as Denise checked over her patient.

"From what I can tell without monitors, she's just unconscious. An old head wound, probably a previous trauma, that causes blackouts wouldn't be far fetched," Denise explained, turning back and finally letting him see the makeshift examination table. Denise turned to Daryl, seeing she wouldn't be able to get an answer from a distraught Glenn. "Do you guys know her?"

"Yeah," Daryl said, his mouth so dry his words came out as more of a croak. He couldn't take his off the blonde hair splayed on the pillow, the fading scar on her cheek, or the closed eyelids he knew hid clear blue eyes. "Name's Beth."

Daryl had started keeping track. For so long, he had hoped that what happened in the hospital had been a nightmare. Every morning, he woke up in his makeshift bed by Judith's crib and carved another tally into the door frame before leaving to go to the Rhee house. Every time, he would hold his breath until he saw her perched on the wrap around porch.

He opened his bleary eyes, finding the sun streaming down on his face from the open window. It sat high in the sky, telling him that he had slept in way too long. Even Judith was already up, her delightled shrieks coming from downstairs. Daryl sat up slowly, picking up his knife and holstering it on his belt. He felt the empty loop on the other side like a tongue running over a tooth that had been been pulled. Another totem proving to him that she was there. For over a year, he had that knife with him. Now, he knew it was exactly where it was supposed to be, but it still gave him an almost electric shock to feel its absence.

He walked over to the door, thumbing the eight marks in the wood. Eight days. Eight mornings he had found Beth sitting at home. Exactly where she was supposed to be. He notched another mark under the last. Maybe today would be the day he would say more than a simple "how's it going?" He couldn't look at her and not think of how he had been the one to lay her in the back of that car. How he didn't fight Rick when he said they needed to move before the hoard came, that they would come back for her body when they weren't so weak. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the guilt back.

Maybe not.

Daryl pulled on his boots and a freshly washed shirt (courtesy of Carol). He walked downstairs to find Michonne making her famously bad powdered scrambled eggs.

"Morning," Daryl grumbled as he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter.

"Guess again," Michonne laughed. "It's well past noon. Late night?"

"Took Glenn's guard shift," Daryl explained.

"You've been doing that a lot lately," Michonne said, her eyebrow arched at him.

"Kid's got a kid on the way," Daryl said. "Might as well give him some time with his wife 'fore they got a baby to worry 'bout."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's for him," Michonne said, nodding.

Daryl rolled his eyes, turning away from the counter with his apple to leave. "Tell Beth I said hi," Michonne called as he walked out the door.

He followed the path that he took every day to the house, catching a few polite waves from the neighbors. Walking corpses and collapsing societies were easy enough to get used to for Daryl, but suburban niceties were something he would always shy away from.

He turned the corner to the house, fully prepared to do his routine greeting and check up before heading outside the walls to track a small critter to take his emotions out on.

Until he saw the empty porch.

He felt as if the breath he had been holding had been knocked out of him. Daryl knew he was later than usual but she never left her spot. Beth had always hated feeling useless, so she made a point to sit directly in Deanna's line of sight while she awaited her promised job.

Daryl finally gathered his thoughts enough to move, bursting in through the front door he knew was never locked.

"Beth!" He called. The living room was empty, as was the kitchen. "Beth!"

Daryl rushed up the stairs, nearly ripping her bedroom door off the hinges. He stared at the bed, neatly made as if no one had been there at all. He felt the empty belt loop once more. He knew she had been there. She had to be. It couldn't have been another dream.

"Beth!" He yelled once more, making his way down the hall.

"Daryl?" The shallow voice came from behind the door next to him. He swung it open to the bathroom, finding Beth and his heartbeat once more.

He knelt next to the bathtub, pulling Beth as close to him as the short wall would allow and soaking his flannel in the warm water. He hadn't let himself touch her since she had been back, not even when she had been unconscious in the infirmary bed. The only tangible sign he allowed himself were the notches in his door.

Beth laughed slightly, patting his back. "Sorry, I kinda fell asleep."

Daryl pulled back, looking into her eyes. The eyes he had searched for in every sandy haired walker he came across.

He also noted she was in the bathtub, stark naked. Daryl jumped up as if he were on fire, turning his back on her.

"I uh-," he bumbled as his face broke out in a blush. "Sorry. You weren't outside."

"I had a headache," she explained. "This always helps."

Daryl nodded, moving to head out the door. "I'll leave you to it."

"You don't have to go," Beth said. "I don't mind the company."

"I dunno-,"

"You can keep your back turned," Beth said, a smile in her tone. "Never took you for a prude, Daryl."

Daryl gave a gruff laugh as he settled onto the floor with his back against the bathtub, his elbows perched on his knees. They sat like that for a long time, only sound of the gently swaying water penetrating the large silence between them.

Finally, Daryl spoke again. "I'm sorry."

"I grew up with two older siblings, I'm used to people not knocking," Beth said.

"Not that," Daryl said. "For…. for before. In Atlanta."

Beth moved to the edge of the tub, her head perched on her arms; he could feel her eyes on him. "Daryl, you know that wasn't your fault. You all thought I was dead, and who could blame you?"

Daryl looked at her from the corner of his eye, his hand picking absently at a hole in his jeans. "Doesn't matter. Shoulda went back."

"Why? I made it here fine on my own, didn't I?" Beth said.

"Shouldn'ta had to," he said. "No one should have to be on their own."

"You taught me enough," She said. "I might not be tough, but I managed."

Daryl laughed humorlessly. "You're plenty tough, Beth."

Beth nudged him with her elbow, a slight grin playing on her lips. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"That you'd miss me bad."

Daryl shook his head, finally turning to look at her fully. He reached up, grabbing the hand that dangled right by his shoulder. He examined it carefully, noting the new dents and abrasions from life outside of the safety of the walls. He pressed a kiss onto her scarred knuckles.

"'Course I did."


End file.
